Building on top of the ashes
by Lavender Meadow
Summary: What if Milo and Cassia's horse had been fast enough for them both? What if they knew each other better and made a life for themselves, against all odds?
1. Chapter 1

Smoke. Fire. Death. Horses. The end of the world. Her parents… oh, her parents. Ariadne.

Riding… riding fast.

Cassia hung on for dear life. Coughing…speed. Eyes closed, she held on to her savior with all her might. The horse was so fast, she _had_ to cling on to him.

_Him_. She couldn't have spoken more than 500 words to him, yet she trusted him completely, this quiet man she was clinging on to with all her might.

So fast. It was make her rather dizzy.

Cassia was aware of slowing down. Slowly, the world stopped spinning by. Milo stopped the horse and jumped down. Then he grabbed her around her waist and slid her down.

"Are you alright"? he asked her. Opening up her eyes, she looked up into his. Warm, brown, and kind.

"Yes, I think so," she replied, blushing slightly. He put his hand under her arm and motioned her to sit down. They had stopped near a stream, under some trees. He guided the horse to the stream to let him drinking, patting him and giving him encouraging words. Then he turned to Cassia. "Come, you need to drink." She obligingly cupped some water with her hands and raised it to her mouth. It was cool. He knelt down and did the same.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asked him, sitting back and peering over at him.

"Yes," he said, shyly looking at her. "I don't think our horse is, though. He needs to rest."

"So do you," she said to him softly, touching his hand. He grabbed her offered hand and looked to the west, to the inferno in the distance. She followed his gaze.

"Is it the end of the world?" she asked in a small voice.

He shuddered, considering. What horrors they had seen that day. Fire, water, and rocks. Her parents. Atticus…

"I don't think so," he replied, squeezing her hand. They had traveled 30 miles already. Once the horse had rested a couple hours, they would continue.

"I trust you."

He gave a start and looked over at her, her face so guileless and hopeful.

"I barely know you at all, yet I trust you," she continued in a small voice.

Milo sighed and cupped her face with his palm. "I will do my very best for you," he said. "We will be safe."


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** I've realized that the fact that the whole "Pompeii" world being set in ancient Rome presents some problems. For example, can they stop at an inn? Can they go to a restaurant? How do they get around – just riding horses around? Litters? I've decided to sort of "move" the setting to medieval/renaissance Europe. Basically, I want to concentrate on the emotional/personal aspect than doing a lot of research on ancient Rome.

They continued on past Miseno, ending up in the outskirts of Cassino, which lay on the northern frontier of the Kingdom of Naples. Nearing the city, the horse stopped to a trot. Holding onto Milo's waist, Cassia was acutely aware of the bands of muscle across his stomach, his strong back holding up as a bulwark against the horrors of hours before. She pressed her nose against him, breathing in the smell of sweat, ash, and horses.

Cassia, otherwise involved in smelling Milos back, felt his back tense slightly as he sat up straighter. The horse came to a halt.

"What's this, then?" she heard a man sneer. "Some escaped slaves? "

She peered up at the front of the road. A band of five men barred the way, standing across the cobbled street. The ringleader, a brown-haired intemperate man in worn brown cloak, eyed Milo.

"Let us pass," said Milo firmly, in a husky voice. "We mean you no harm."

"So says a would-be gladiator and his whore!" said another man. "Let's have a look at her, then - come on, love. Show us your assets!" The man had tried to grab her leg, but was stopped by Milo, whose hand clamped down on the man's wrist, forcing the grubby hand from her calf.

"Let her alone!" cried Milo. "What do you want?" He was wary, feeling Cassia tighten her grip around his waist. He shuddered.

"Why, your horse, of course," said the first man, and pushed Milo down from the horse onto the cobbled stone. He punched Milo in the gut, hard. "If not, I'll take your woman _and_ the horse, for all she looks like a charwoman."

Milo recovered himself and stood in front of the horse, glaring at the man with bright eyes. "Do not touch her!" he cried.

Another man ran at him with a small dagger, slashing at Milo's his left arm. Milo, filled with rage, regarded the man.

Milo was angry and bleeding, but, spite of it all, he…thought. He generally just beat the other man up in the gladiator's pit. That's what he did – what he knew. Without anyone cheering him on to fight to the death, however, he considered what how to act. It was a strange sensation – not just following orders. However, Milo glanced at the horse. Exhausted and worn out, the horse needed several days' rest to be useful again. They needed another one. However, they were beyond the nightmarish eruption as to not be in danger. And Cassia…

Milo had no weapon whatsoever. If he fought them, they would win. Then they would rape her. That he would _not_ allow, under any circumstances. The thought made his blood run cold.

Arm bleeding badly, he forced himself to stand up. He looked to ringleader in the face.

"If I let you have the horse, will you let us go?"

Another man piped up, this one older. "If you rape the woman and murder him, the watch _will_ come after us. They'll throw us all in jail again and hang us. It's not worth it!"

The ringleader thought a minute. "Aye, alright. Take your woman and go."

Milo breathed deeply, turned around, and reached up to take Cassia around the waist and pull her down. Her hands were shaking, and she leaned on him for support. Milo patted the horse, murmuring thanks.

"Oh, come on, I just want to bit of a feel, love!" said the younger man, reaching out to Cassia. She flinched.

Milo turned on the man with such a penetrating, menacing glare that he instantly stepped back, backing off. Holding Cassia firmly around the waist, bicep bleeding, he began walking the half-mile to the city walls, not looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

Milo and Cassia walked into the town. It was bustling and vibrant. As she walked through the streets, she looked at the merchants stalls – meat hung from hooks in front of one shop, in front of another, leather gloves and other goods, in front of another, dyed cloth. She felt herself breath more easily, watching a father and son laugh together as they readied the stall for the day. Maybe life would go on.

Then she glanced a Milo, struggling to keep up next to her. She gripped his hand and now and again found herself gripping him around the waist. This was not to any amorous purpose, however attracted she was to him. Milo had lost a lot of blood.

She had torn some of the cloth from her skirt to wrap around the wound where the ringleader of the bandits had slashed Milo's left arm. It had helped to stanch the bleeding. Now, though, she saw blood beginning to seep through the bandage.

Taciturn, insufferable Milo had insisted he was alright. Cassia was not so sure. He looked pale, surely paler than he had been before.

"Milo, you must rest!" said Cassia. "We are safe and alive, but _you_ are hurt." Her lower lip trembled and he looked down at her with warm brown eyes.

"I am fine," he replied, cupping her cheek with his right palm. His face belied his words, however.

"At least sit down and let me check your arm," she pressed. There was a clean bale of hay sitting alongside the road.

"No, I'm fine. I just need to…"

"Pretty flowers for a pretty lady!"

Cassia found a boy of around ten or so standing in front of her, holding out a small bunch of wildflowers. "Just ten pence!"

Cassia smiled at him. "I'm so sorry, but we haven't any money." None at all, Cassia reflected dejectedly.

"Well then, you may have them anyway, my dear," said a woman who must have been his mother, coming to stand next to him with a smile. "I know I shouldn't, and my husband won't be happy, but you do look like you could use something to cheer you."

Cassia smiled warmly. "Thank you."

The woman's smile faltered as he looked at Milo. "What's wrong with your man, then?"

Milo was indeed becoming unsteady, swaying a little bit. He was paler and his wound was seeping.

"We were attacked by a band of men as we came into town. They stole our horse." Milo's hand pressed into Cassia's own. Cassia gazed at him – was he reproaching himself?

"We mean you no trouble, mistress," rasped Milo. "We don't mean to inconvenience you." He was swaying again.

"Nonsense! Where do you come from, if I may…."

Milo had fainted in the street. Cassia bent over him in horror, the woman standing behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

Milo awoke suddenly and started, feeling his arm burn. Someone was touching him. Startled, he looked up and saw a monk hovering over him, poking at his arm.

"Hello, friend," said a short, slightly portly monk with a jolly face and white hair, smiling down at him. "Back with us, I see…"

"Where am I?

"At the monastery of Monte Cassino," he replied. "I am Brother Anselm, a Franciscan brother and healer here."

He continued examining his arm, unwrapping the bloody fragments of Cassia's skirt.

"Cassia!" he said with a start, trying to sit up. "Where is she?" Big hands pushed him back down on the bed.

"Peace, the lady is well! She is sitting in the common room down the hall. I just wanted to examine you quietly first before letting her in."

Milo relaxed and leaned back.

"Well, let's see what we have then, shall we"? He finished unwrapping his arm and began prodding some more.

Milo closed his eyes and bit his lip. His head was swimming. Where _was_ Cassia again?

"Well, my son, you have a rather bad laceration on your upper bicep, probably made by a dagger, as I suspect you are already well aware. I shall clean out the wound, stitch it, and pray you don't get a fever."

"Thank you," said Milo, not at all used to being treated so generously.

"And when you're feeling a bit better, possibly tomorrow, you can bathe and we'll get you a fresh set of clothes." He got up to look over his medical supplies.

"I don't want to trouble you at all, brother," said Milo quietly.

The monk glanced at him sideways. "Nonsense. We are all equally God's children, are we not?" He left for the door. "And now, I'll bring the lady in and my assistant."

"Milo!" exclaimed Cassia as she came into the room. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he replied, taking her hand in his. "The monks just need to stitch me up, that's all. Please don't worry for me."

"Don't worry – you fainted in the street! Signora Rossi's husband and son brought you here."

"Please sit, my lady," said Brother Anselm to Cassia, motioning her to sit in a chair. She was followed by another monk. "You are the Signor's wife?" he asked.

Cassia looked at Milo on the bed, who looked back at her with intense eyes, the pain from his wound showing in his face. "I'm…" she began. "I'm… his betrothed."

"Ah! Congratulations to you both!"

Milo stared back at Cassia with a questioning gaze. There was time enough later, thought Cassia, to sort out everything when he was well.

"Now, Milo here has a bad gash in his upper arm. I shall need to clean out the wound and stitch it."

"Clean it out how, Brother Anselm?" asked Cassia innocently.

Milo cringed. He was _not_ going to let Cassia see him moan in agony while alcohol was poured on the wound to clean it. Having flesh stitched was nothing compared to the white hot agony of alcohol being poured onto slashed flesh. True, it did help to lessen fever and inflammation, but the poor girl didn't need to see that.

"I shall have to pour boiling wine into the wound. Come, sit and hold his other hand for him. Be here for him." He motioned to the chair next to the bed.

"No, please," said Milo to the monk. "Please, make her go from the room. She doesn't need to see any of this."

Cassia gave him a withering look.

"Nonsense! If you two intend to marry, you must get used to tending each other in sickness _and_ in health! Mutual comfort, you know!"

"Exactly!" said Cassia, plopping down on the chair next to his bed.

Milo scowled at her, beginning to protest. She cut him off, putting her hand on his forehead with gentleness. "Come now, my dear, let him tend you." She gave him a loving look, and he gave up. He couldn't fight both of them. Milo let Cassia hold his hand.

The other monk brought in some boiled wine and handed it to Brother Anselm. Then, he stood to grab Milo's bad arm by the wrist to hold him down firmly. Obviously, he was used to performing this task.

"This will hurt, Milo, I won't lie," said Anselm. "Lean on your lady for comfort. This will be quick." He nodded at his fellow monk.

Cassia cringed as Milo's face contorted in pain. He grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. After about a minute, he began to relax.

"Okay there?" she asked him, placing her hand on his cheek. His face was covering in sweat. He nodded at her, reticently looking in her eyes.

The monk had him drink some brandy… and then some more. Then yet some more.

"Cassia?" said Milo, his face flushed and eyes bright.

"Yes?"

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Cassia smiled slightly, glancing down at her outfit. She was dirty, dusty, and had Milo's blood on her. Her hair was… well, she's been better.

"Brother Anselm," said Cassia, "I think you can begin stitching him now."


	5. Chapter 5

Cassia walking along the corridor of the monastery. It was evening and she had left Milo a couple hours ago, finally asleep after being stitched up. The monks had provided her with hot water from a nearby hot spring and she had bathed in a large tin tub in her room. They had provided her with a type of soap and herbs to freshen herself. Her room, incidentally, was on the opposite side of the monastery where Milo's small chamber lay, in an area reserved for visiting nuns and other women.

"Ah, Signorina Cassia, the Compline bell will ring in few minutes. Will you join us?" said Brother Stefano, the assistant of Brother Anselm. He seemed so young and earnest that she smiled.

"Certainly. Let me follow you," she replied. They walked along the corridor to the chapel. "How is Milo?"

"I have just left the gentlemen's room," he said. "Signor Milo is sleeping peacefully and there is no sign of fever. I think he must be very lucky. He certainly seems to have a strong constitution."

"Yes, he does," she smiled. They turned into another corridor.

"My lady, I do not wish to pry, but do you come from Pompeii? You must have seen the huge cloud in the sky. You could scarcely have missed it," he began gingerly.

Cassia did not know how to respond. She was too tired to come up with a brilliant lie.

"Yes, we escaped."

"Father Baroni, the abbot of this monastery, said he had chanced upon a messenger who mentioned what had happened there. The mountain itself spewing forth fire." He glanced sideways at Cassia. "He mentioned that, if he didn't know better, he'd think this was the Almighty's punishment for the vice, slavery, and the evils of Rome."

Cassia swallowed, trying to decide whether he could trust this man. He seems so sincere, she thought she could. "There certainly seems to be a lot of travelers and meetings for a society of monks. Aren't you supposed to eschew the outside world?"

"Well," smiled Brother Stefano, "some monasteries are stricter than others." He glanced at her, nodding. "It's true that I had my choice of monasteries to join. I am the third son of the Visconte de Mancini," he smirked, "but don't hold that against me."

Cassia heard the Compline bell toll just as they were walking into the chapel. She was motioned to kneel in a pew, alongside a couple visiting nuns.

The chapel was serene. Candles illuminated frescos and sculptures that were hidden in the half-light. The most beautiful thing of all, however, was the chanting. The monks had lined up facing each other and were chanting – such hauntingly beautiful sounds that it made Cassia shiver.

Cassia felt guilty. She knew she should be in an absolute state of shock and despair, with her parents, Ariadne, and the whole word seemingly gone up in a ball of flame and ash. However, she felt hopeful. She began to feel as if, somehow, everything would be okay.

"Please, oh please, let Milo be safe," she found herself praying. "Don't let him die."

Milo awoke at dawn. He gingerly tried to move his arm and found it hurt sharply, but was pleased to note that he did not feel any more ill than he had felt last night.

"How are you then, friend?"

Milo looked up and saw Brother Anselm smiling down at him. He felt a hand on his forehead.

"No fever, thank God," he stated. "You _may_ be out of the woods, my son."

"Cassia?" asked Mio. His voice sounded husky.

"Your lady had been fast asleep these hours past. She bathed and received fresh clothes last night and went to Compline. It is yet dawn. Brother Anselm went about unwrapping the bandages on Milos's arm and investigated.

"There is no sign of inflammation. I am very pleased," he grinned.

"So am I," remarked Milo, with a hint of a smile.

"Do you feel yourself well enough to use a chamber pot?"

Milo looked at the ground, abashed. "Yes, of course. I don't want to be a bother to you."

"Tsk, Tsk," clicked Brother Anselm with his teeth. "Up you come."

"Do you feel well enough the bathe?"

"Yes, I would like that," said Milo. Just to get the dirt and grime of the past couple days – gods, the past 15 years - off of him would feel pleasing.

"Wonderful," said Brother Anselm. "I will have someone bring up a tub and get some hot water from our spring. Then, we shall find you a new outfit."

When the water was brought up, Milo sat down in the bath. Brother Anselm had entreated him not to get his arm wet and had left him to bathe, promising to return in 15 minutes or so.

Milo relaxed back in the bath. So much had happened over the past few days. Atticus – his first real friend – had died. Mount Vesuvius - how can a mountain spew forth fire? He hadn't thought such wanton destruction was possible. The cruelty of men, certainly. He had seen horrific brutality over his past 15 years as a slave to believe humans were capable of almost everything. But a mountain?

And Cassia. Just when he had thought that all people in this land were incapable of goodness, Cassia had appeared. Although he had first laid eyes on her when he was in irons, he felt, somehow, that he was equal to his radiant creature. She told him _thank you_. She had looked at him with such beautiful eyes when she had said it to him… He felt himself blushing. His _betrothed_, was she? Well, maybe she was… at least, he wasn't about to let her forget she had said that. Not a chance.

"Shall I wash your back?"

Milo, startled, looked up and saw Brother Anselm standing over him. That was another thing. He had been flogged not two days past. He had gingerly not gotten the wounds wet, but knew they had to be cleansed.

"I know you've been flogged, if that's what you're worried about," he said quietly. "I noticed last night in taking off your shirt. Do not be troubled."

Milo stared at the water, totally dismayed. "Why are you being so kind to me? Truly – why?" asked Milo.

Brother Anselm sighed and sat down on a low stool in front of Milo. "Well, he began, "first of all, I believe that in helping others, in serving others, I serve Christ. Also," he stared directly at Milo now, "I have been flogged myself. I have been beaten myself. I was maybe not a slave," he glanced sideways at Milo, "but I have been practically treated as such. I know that, in some places such as Rome, the evil of slavery persists. But Milo, "he looked down at him, "it _is_ evil, to treat our fellow man like that. No one has any right. And… I think there is more good in this world than you know."

Brother Anselm washed Milo's back for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Cassia awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on her door.

"Who's there? What do you want?" She sat up swiftly and pulled the covers over her chest. She reached and grabbed the candlestick on the nightstand. "I'm warning you - what do you want!"

The door opened and Cassia was never so surprised in her life.

"It's just me," said Milo, poking his head around the door.

Cassia just sat there, mouth opening, staring at him. Milo walked into the room and quietly shut the door. He had bathed and wore a forest-green doublet with new boots. In truth, she thought he looked quite fetching.

She collected herself. "Milo! Sit down!" She reached out to drag him down onto the bed. "Where's Brother Anselm?"

She moved to get up, but was pushed back down on the bed by a large hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine, really – no! Really I am, Cassia." He reached up and put his good hand on her cheek. "Brother Anselm let me come."

She took a sharp intake of breath and felt tears pricking at her eyes. Against all reason, being ten seconds earlier scared to death of his health, Cassia suddenly flung herself at him and sobbed.

Milo gave a sharp intake of breath and flinched, giving a slight moan.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, backing away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I thought you might die!" She trembled, exhaling.

"No, Cassia!" Milo reached for her again. "Cassia? Look at me." He put his hands on either side of her face, staring at her gently and intently, wiping a tear away gently from her cheek with his callused finger. She tried to look away but couldn't, his eyes intent on her face.

""I'm fine – I've had much worse wounds, truly." Big brown eyes glanced at her lips and quickly flitted back into her eyes, so quickly that Cassia wasn't sure if it really happened.

He smiled and moved closer to her, warms hands softly cradling each side of her face. "_We're_ fine," Milo whispered, as he suddenly put his mouth on hers.

Cassia sat motionless for a couple seconds, her mind trying to catch up with her heart. As he moved his lips against hers, she felt herself give way, lips moving against his. Her hands reached up and grabbed his hair, freshly washed. He smelled intoxicating, with a scent that was herbs and sweat and _him_. Cassia felt off balance, both far way and very close, at the same time.

She dug her hands into his hair and, quite unwittingly, found herself nudging her tongue against his lips demanding entrance.

That seemed to ignite a passion in him. He grasped her firmly with his left hand and she found herself being pressed against the pillows of the headboard, being kissed deeply. She swore she could feel the beat of his heart against hers. Cassia reached for him more firmly and…

"Ahh!" Milo screamed, pulling back and sitting upright on the bed, his face white. She had inadvertently latched onto his left bicep in her passion and squeezed. Hard.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Cassia was beside herself, grasping his right hand in hers.

He glanced over at her with a hint of a smile, the pain lessening. "Aye, I'm alright. I just hope we haven't ripped any stitches."

Suddenly, the door burst open. "Jesu, what happened?" A small nun had rushed in, out of breath. She looked quite put out. "I heard a noise, and…" She took note of Milo, sitting on the bed gingerly. "What are _you_ doing in the room?"

Brother Anselm suddenly appeared behind her. "Peace, Sister Teresa," he said. "It is all right." He moved over to Milo. "Did you rip your stitches?"

"I'm not sure," replied Milo, glanced at him, abashed.

"Well, come, and leave the lady dress." He put his hand on Milo's shoulder and escorted him firmly to the door. Glancing back at Sister Teresa's pursed lips, he smiled at her apologetically and said, "Well, they _are_ betrothed." She followed them out and shut the door.

Cassia just sat on the bed, reflecting on what had just happened.


	7. Chapter 7

Milo sat in the common room, sipping some ale. After being admonished good-naturedly by Brother Anselm (a few stitches _had_ ripped, requiring re-suturing), he was ordered to take it easy the rest of the day, with "no more strenuous activity," Brother Anselm had told him, with a wink and a pat on the back. Drat it – was the man a monk or the town gossip?

The ale was good. The common room was close to the kitchen and Milo could hear the flurry of pots and pans clanging in preparation for the evening meal. He could smell fresh bread baking and his mouth began to water. The pain from his wound was now but a dull ache, but he sipped some more ale, wishing it was a little stronger. After the meal, he decided, he would ask Brother Anselm for either something stronger or some herbs to help him relax and sleep.

The room began to fill now for the meal. Monks filed into the room and began to sit a long trestle tables, chattering amongst themselves. Not for the first time, Milo marveled at the monks' gregariousness. Not that he objected, not at all. It was nice to see social interaction that did not end up with someone having to kill someone else at some future time.

Out of the corner of his eye, Milo saw Cassia come into the room, carrying two bowls covered with cloths. She set down one bowl on one end of a table and turned to place the other one further down the other end. She caught Milo's eye and smiled shyly, her eyes warm. Milo grinned back at her. She gave him one last look and went back into the kitchen.

Milo felt himself blushing and his breeches tighten. Gods he wanted her - badly. Her hair was so beautiful, nut-brown and cascading down her back in waves. Her smile and was sweet and kind and not condescending at all. He barely knew her, but he also felt like he'd known her all his life. He didn't want to frighten her, though. He felt as though one wrong move would release Cassia from her dream and she'd suddenly realize she'd ran away with a slave. Deep down, he _knew_ he didn't deserve her. Likely, most of those in Rome would agree with him.

"Are you well, Milo?" said Brother Anselm, breaking Milo out of his reverie. He and Brother Stefano sat down across the table from him.

"Yes, I feel much better. The pain is less," replied Milo, placing a hand gingerly on his arm.

"Excellent!" smiled Anselm, taking a drink of ale. "_You_, my friend, have a very strong constitution, you know that? If an ox tried to do battle with you, I would fear for the ox."

Milo grinned. How little they knew.

"Really, though, Milo, how did you get such built muscles?" said Stefano, wistfully. "I confess myself totally jealous. I could farm the fields from morning until night and carry 50 pails of water a day and never get arms such as yours."

Milo glanced between both men, who were looking at him expectedly.

"Well, Brother," he began, staring at Stefano, a wry looking on his face, eyes with a hint of mischief. "I _carried_ oxen around. Those are heavy buggers, you know." Milo glanced at Anselm quickly with a smile and then back at Stefano.

"_Carried_ oxen. Why ever would you do that!"

"Well, Brother… sometimes an ox would tire from ploughing the fields and we'd have to carry them for a while until they were well again." Anselm made a quick snort of laughter.

"Well," sputtered Stefano, totally confused. "It that a common sort of thing to do, then?" Anselm put his hand over his mouth tried to stifle his giggles.

"Oh, yes," said Milo, eyes twinkling, "Ox-carrying is quite a common chore." Stefano pondered whether he'd ever read anything like that before.

Not being able to contain themselves, both Milo and Brother Anselm burst out laughing. Stefano looked totally confused.

"Milo is teasing, Stefano! Really, why would he carry an _ox_ around?"

Stefano was half-embarrassed and half-amused. "I don't know, do I? I've never worked on a farm."

"Milo, Stefano is the third son of the Viscount de Mancini. He wouldn't know an ox if one came up and bit him on his arse."

Stefano smiled and took a drink of ale. He was rather good-natured about the whole thing, really, thought Milo.

"Whose arse got bitten by an ox?" said Cassia, smiling, sitting down next to Milo. "Isn't that rather painful?"

All three men exploded with laughter. Cassia just stared at them like they'd lost their minds.

"Um, never mind," replied Milo, smiling over at her, face red from laughter.

Cassia smiled back indulgently. "But really, try some bread," she told them, "it's very good." All three obligingly tried a piece. The rest of the meal was brought out presently.

Trying to change the subject, Anselm said "Milo, really, though, what can you do? If you intend to stay here with us for a time, I'm sure you'd like to contribute. What do you know how to do?"

Milo glanced over at Cassia with a slight smile in his eyes. Then, he looked at Anselm. "I know horses."

"Really?" asked Stefano.

"Oh, Milo's an expert with horses, he's amazing, truly he is, "said Cassia, pride in her voice. Cassia reached over and took Milo's hand under the table. Milo, a blush rising in his cheeks, squeezed back in gratitude.

"But that's truly providential – our head groom, Brother Alonzo, left us two weeks ago!" said Anselm, grinning from ear to ear. "I will have a word with the abbot after the meal. That is excellent."

After the meal, Anselm and Stefano left the table. Milo had to admit he was pleasantly surprised to have the chance of working with horses again.

Walking out of the common room with Cassia, he turned to her, smiling, "Lady Cassia," he began, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, "may I have the pleasure of your company tomorrow? To take a walk outside and maybe look at the horses?" Milo still held her hand and looked up into her eyes, his own bright and shining with a hint of shyness.

"Of course, my lord," she replied, looking quickly down at the floor and back up at him, "it would be my pleasure." Cassia kissed his cheek lightly and smiled into his eyes.


End file.
